Silhouettes
by book5worm3
Summary: TASM. One-shot. Peter and Gwen's relationship during Senior Year. Would really appreciate some feedback!


Waiting.

This is the game that haunts her life; the game she has become so enraptured with or rather the game that has become so enraptured with her.

She doesn't want this. She doesn't actively seek it. She hates herself a little every time her heart does that little flutter when she sees him in school. Her body betrays her. And yet, it makes no sense for her to feel like this, because she sort of hates him too. (Though deep down she knows she could never truly hate him. She only wants to.) Her whole life has become so stricken with grief. She's only a shell of herself.

That summer she spends with her grandparents by the lake. She aches for him in every way, and it frustrates her to no end. Her mother is withdrawn, withered and frail. Her brothers are silently sad. The eldest one gets brought home by the police one night for tailgating. She stays in her grandparent's guest room most of the time, researching and revising. She does this well into the night until her eyes are raw and the sky is lit by the most exquisite shades of purple, pink and orange that she can no longer appreciate. She cries a lot.

School starts again in the fall. The first month brings a stream of sympathetic glances, pats and a consultation with the schools' guidance counselor She only goes that one time. She sees him on the first day back and it jolts her. Somewhere along the line she'd wondered whether she'd made him up. She doesn't know why her heart simultaneously leaps and aches when she realizes he wasn't just a figment of her imagination.

She'd rather been hoping he was.

He doesn't offer his empty condolences or throw her a sympathy glance. He doesn't look at her from under his hood at all and for the first few days she suffers a series of blows because of this. One night after a long, needy sob fest she goes to close her blinds and swears she sees a flicker of blue and red dart past her window. It happens so fast she thinks she might have made it up, but as she wipes her eyes on the back of her hand she resolves herself to toughen up and move on with her life. It's understandable mourning the death of her father, but can she really justify mourning the loss of _him? _

Nevertheless, she continues to leave her blinds open 24/7.

It's not easy. It's really effing hard, but she's trying and that's something. She rises every morning at the crack of dawn to light flooding in from her windows. She showers, keeps her hair sleek and soft and applies light makeup to hide the permanent bags under her eyes. Her Mom is like a zombie these days, so she has taken over. She has breakfast with her brothers, packs their lunches, ensures they have their homework and projects complete and deals with James when he gets reports home from school or when he misses curfew. He's quickly becoming a waster.

She goes to school and sees him.

Every day he looks worse and worse. Bruises, scrapes and scratches scatter his face and she wonders if that's how bad his face is, what battle scars the rest of his body must adorn. They avoid each other like the plague. It hurts her at first but at least she feels something. This pain is the only thing that lets her know she can still feel. OsCorp is being investigated so she can no longer work she occupies herself with the debate team and even agrees to oversee the production of the school year book. She knows he's the year book photographer but she's doing this for the credits and notoriety. She is making her way to Valedictorian after all. (At least that's what she tells herself). The first time he sees her he freezes. She sees it through the corner of her eye. She smirks a little but continues to sternly delegate tasks to the team. The whole day she can feel his gaze on her but she refuses to meet it. She's beyond pissed at this stage.

She's furious. She's unforgiving. She's damaged.

Fall slowly passes into winder and the crisp autumnal colours turn to pales and grey. Ironically, she feels happier in this weather. Not happy. She's still miserable. But she's happier to play the charade that is her life in this kind of weather. Everything is bare and while she knows winter is the loneliest time, this is the least alone she's felt in months.

She still leaves her blinds open 24/7.

She's developed a kind of routine now. She wakes at the crack of dawn. She studies. She writes – a lot. About her days, about her school work but never about her feelings. She showers, keeps her hair sleek and soft and applies light makeup to hide the permanent bags under her eyes. She has breakfast with her two brothers (the third is still in bed). She packs their lunches and ensures they have their homework and projects complete. She walks them to school before going to her own.

She goes to class. She ignores him. She goes to lunch. She ignores him. She goes to science club. She goes to debating. She goes to yearbook and stays longer that she needs to. Sometimes it's just the two of them.

They ignore each other. (Secretly, she relishes this time).

She goes home. She has dinner. She painfully ignores the empty seat at the top of the table. She goes to her room. She researches and revises. She still studies until her eyes are raw and a new day dawns. She loves knowing that when she's up in the middle of the night, so is he.

It feels like they're the only two in the whole city awake. Both fighting their respective battles.

The blinds are left open 24/7.

Christmas is hard, whether she admits it to herself or not. Days before Christmas Eve when she's doing some last minute shopping she bumps into Aunt May. The aging lady smiles gently, carefully and in the middle of the bustling crowd of holiday shoppers, touches her hand and says, "Merry Christmas, dear."

And in that moment, she knows, she just knows that whether he told Aunt May or not, Aunt May knows everything. And there's a sympathy in the lady's eyes – a sympathy she has never seen. And when the aging lady shuffles off with a final light-hearted parting word, she realizes it was empathy.

They spend Christmas with their grandparents. The lake has frozen so they ice-skate and drink hot-cocoa and the rustic house smells like pine, cured ham and gingerbread all the time. At Christmas mass it suddenly dawns on her that he might swing by her apartment tonight and she won't be there. She fervently thinks back on her brief encounter with Aunt May, racking her brains to remember whether or not she'd told her that she was staying with her grandparents. She knows that it's a long shot, that he would do anything given the circumstances. But it's something he would do, isn't it? Something Peter would do.

She smiles gently. It's the first time his name hasn't stung her.

They stay with their grandparents until after St. Stephens's Day.

They're in jovial form.

Her mother sings Christmas carols, her brothers' pop crackers and relay stupid Christmas jokes for hours and the eldest even wears the festive Christmas jumper their grandmother gave him with a flimsy Christmas hat. She laughs louder than she has in months, flings an arm around him and tussles his fair brightly. They play charades and she's relieved to discover that now charades is just a game and not her life. They exchange gifts and tease her brother for kissing one of the local girls under the mistletoe. He blushes and shrinks under the attention and she begins to soften. They chat and laugh on the way home and for the first time they all feel like things are looking up.

Their spirits are dampened somewhat when they come home to a cold, empty apartment.

She sees her mother's face fall a little. But her eldest brother ushers the others in with the challenge of an eggnog drinking competition and her heart swells when he turns to wink at her because he's returning to his old self. And she's no longer alone. They all ignore the muffled sounds of their mother sobs from her bedroom. She rushes to her room, allowing her brothers to ransack the kitchen for food.

She tries not to be crestfallen when they're nothing but ice left for her on the fire escape. There's always New Years.

Feeling hopeful, she leaves the blinds open.

The holidays continue to fly and everyday her brother is returning more and more to his former self. One night she tells him how proud their father would be and they both Christmas their mother has defrosted considerably. Family meals are a given again and everything feels like it's slowly returning to some form of normalcy. They all miss their Dad terribly, but Mom's started to talk about it and now that the elephant in the room has been addressed, everything is easier.

Her brother's got a new girlfriend, has had for a while apparently. Her name's Julia. Julia's pretty and polite and James's head over heels for her. She tries to be happy for him but she can't deny the nagging in the back of her head telling her he's way more involved in the relationship than Julia is but hey, who is she to talk?

She spends New Years with her Mom and the younger two of her brothers. Her eldest brother is at a friend's party. They watch bad movies and squeal out the countdown and drink orange juice from champagne glasses when it's 12am, wishing each other a 'Happy New Year' and talking about how great it's going to be. Her Mom and her brothers go to bed but James still isn't home.

Gwen spends the next hour in her room, in front of the window (just in case). The bitter truth is she hasn't seen another flicker of blue and red since that first time and she knows he's not going to show.

She calls her brother multiple times but his phone is switched off. She gets worried pretty quickly after realizing that. When her Mom peeks her head in anxiously asking if James has been in contact, she lies and tells her Mom that he rang to say he's staying at a friend's house and that everything's okay. She would regret the lie if her mother didn't look so relieved. She knows that her Mom sleeps soundly that night.

At 3.30am, she's got her coat and boots on ready to search for her brother when he stumbles in the door with a bruised face and smelling like a mini-bar. She loses it. She screams at him through harsh whispers and comes close to smacking answers out of him until he gives in and tells her how he caught Julia making out with one of his best friends and how he got into a fist fight with the guy because that's how much he 'loves' Julia. She snorts at this because they've barely been going out over a month. He hardens at this and raises himself to his full height.

"What would you know?" He slurs. "You couldn't even keep that Parker kid for 3 days and you still want him. You're pathetic."

That night she shuts her blinds.

They go back to school and her routine continues, though she no longer wakes to sunlight filling up her bedroom. Her brother doesn't show to breakfast or dinner anymore and her mother is stressing out. She spends barely any time at the Year Book and she knows that people aren't happy about it but she really doesn't want to be near him. She can't bear it anymore. She is pathetic.

She's still top of the class and visits her father grave every Wednesday and Sunday and she helps out at home the best she can. But somehow things are harder now and she starts to cry again, a lot.

One night she's lying in bed. She's hot and flustered and aching and she wants more than anything for Peter to come swinging by and end this physical torture. She twists and turns. She even gets up for a shower but nothing will cease the mounting pressure between her legs until she does. After, she feels dirty and ashamed. It's not the first time she's done this, and with her extensive study into the human body and human tendencies she of all people knows that it is perfectly normal and natural. But somehow it feels wrong, given that he's out doing god knows what. More than anything, it just heightens her desire for what she knows she can't have.

Two nights later, she hears tapping at her window.

Her heart rises to her throat and she thinks she just might be sick. This is all she's wanted; yearned for for the past 9 months but right now she's frozen. The tapping increases bit by bit in the half second she has to unglue herself from the bed and fling the blinds aside. And this time it's not just a flicker of blue and red but a whole display. For a second she doesn't know what to do but he's breathing heavy and his face contorts in pain.

"Gwen."

Instantly, auto-pilot kicks in and takes over and the windows up and he's in the room with his suit half peeled down and an aggressively open wound is being stitched up by her dexterous hands. He's numbed to the pain. He brings a hand up to stroke her lined forehead; brows furrowed intently as her hand weaves. Her weaving falters and her eyes dart between her hand and the sticky tear.

"Gwen," he whispers, softly, reverently and tears fill her eyes.

His thumb slowly descends to her cheek and rubs circles into the hollow where there used be full apple and a tear breaks loose from her wide, pained eyes.

"Please stop, Peter." She pleads with him but he merely tilts her head up and traces her soft lips with the rough pad of his thumb. Her lips open slightly and her head lolls back; eyes firmly shut.

"Gwen." He says once more and then his lips are on hers; fervently and wildly. His hand snakes its way into her tussled hair. She grips his bare chest and neck and they kiss and they kiss and they kiss until finally she breaks away. His eyes are glazed and he almost doesn't register the shaking of her head but his lips are back on hers again and she whimpers in the back of her throat eliciting a rumbling groan from deep within his chest. She raises herself to kiss him just as fully, just as passionately and a war is raging between them; a war fueled by raging hormones.

She rips herself away once more and turns her back on him.

"Jesus, Peter – I said no!" She hisses; hands' smoothing her hair, deep breathes slowing her racing pulse.

"Why?" He asks softly. And for the second time she loses it.

"What the fuck Peter? Are you seriously even asking me that?" She rounds on him with a fire burning so fiercely in her eyes she looks like a wild cat."Hmm, let's list the reasons shall we? Maybe it's because I didn't plan on spending my night stitching up someone's disgusting injuries or maybe it's because I don't like people tapping randomly on my window and demanding access to my room at 12.30am on a school night or maybe, just maybe, it's because my Dad fucking died and my boyfriend left me."

Peter flinched.

"You left me. Even after I came to your house that day. You let me go and deal with this all on my own. You gave me no choice, but to deal but all this on my own! Goddamnit, Peter you left!"

"I never really left," He countered quietly.

"And then you continued to ignore me. Do you know how much that hurt, Peter? My life was a complete mess. I was a complete mess – hell I am a complete mess! Look at me!"

"You're beautiful."

"Don't say that," she whimpered. "Don't say stuff like that."

"It's the truth." Peter watched her shoulders fold and her head drop as she thick, fat tears fell into her lap.

The room was silent for several minutes, interrupted only by Gwen's hiccups and sniffles. Finally she raised her eyes to his and Peter was startled at how composed and resolved she seemed.

"Then why don't you want me?"

Peter's eyes bugged out of his head. After all this time, how did she not truly know? Oh, how he wanted to stride over and engulf her tiny, vulnerable frame in his arms, but a part of him knew Gwen was right. He didn't have the right to do that. He gave up that right the day he watched her walk off that porch into the pelting rain under the shadow of a promise to a dying man. A right he never truly deserved. Yet, here she was in front of him, Gwen; _his _Gwen asking him why he didn't want her. How could he tell her anything but the truth?

"Why don't I want you? Jesus, Gwen all I've done is want you! I've wanted you since first grade when you wore ribbons in your hair and had jam on your face. I wanted you to be my friend, my girlfriend and hell maybe even more than that one day! You're beautiful and smart and funny and talented and you're everything! You're everything."

Peter hadn't realized he'd been racing through his little declaration until he had come to the end of it. He sat there, panting, trying to restore his breathing pattern to normalcy but she was watching him so intently, he felt incredibly self-aware. Then she stood up and walked towards him.

"Then take me, Peter. I'm right here," Gwen pleaded softly, desperately, dropping her head to catch his gaze and tilt his head upwards. "Just take me." Her voice was no more than a faint whisper. Her doe like eyes were the brightest he'd seen them; full of longing, full of hope.

"I can't."

And there he'd done it again. Crushed her.

"If this is still about that stupid fucking promise Peter Parker, I'm gonna-"

"It's not. Well eh, it is to do with that as well but eh, what I mean is it's not just that."

Gwen's eyes were getting impatient and angry again and all he wanted was for them to simmer to that floaty shade of blue.

"You deserve so much more than this, Gwen. And even though I wish I could, I'm always going to have to be the one swinging away at the first sign of danger and leaving you in the dust. I can't do that to you. I just… can't."

"Haven't you pretty much been avoiding doing that for the past year, Peter? And look how I've turned out. This is what I'm like when you leave."

"But I never really left," He tells her earnestly, with those childlike eyes desperately trying to convey the truth and she never has the option not to believe him. "I swung by every day, I saw you every day – except for the few days over Christmas when you weren't here. But other than that it's been… It was kinda selfish of me really, but I couldn't not. I was here the whole time, really. Even when you didn't know it. Even at your father's funeral. I've been here the whole time, Gwen. You almost saw me once but I–"

"I did see you, one time. But I looked for you, every day after that but I only ever saw the suit that one time."

"I stopped wearing it when I came over here. Didn't want anyone to make the connection. I've been wearing my own clothes, see?" He pointed to the bag on the ground. "Except for tonight. I couldn't change given my current state so I took the risk."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Gwen fell rather elegantly into her computer chair beside the bed and continued to stare out into space. Peter knew he could promise her the sun, moon and stars but he could never materialize them. They could be happy; foolishly, euphorically happy. But she could die. And for Peter Parker, that was too high a price to pay for happiness.

"Let me finish cleaning you up."

They sat in silence once more as Gwen's hands sewed Peter up. By the time she had successfully dabbed antiseptic onto the many minor wounds on his face, neck and upper body, Peter's morphine had practically all worn off.

"I'm sorry I came here tonight, this way. I didn't know where else to go and I was near so…"

Gwen merely nodded her head, defeated.

"And um, Gwen?"

"Yes Peter?"

"I really am sorry."

"I know you are, Peter."

The next day everything goes back to normal. She hasn't slept much but still she gets up at the crack of dawn. She showers, keeps her hair sleek and soft and applies light makeup to hide the permanent bags under her eyes. James is at breakfast this morning and he greets her with guilty eyes. She nods her head once. All is forgiven. Her Mom makes sure the boys have their homework and projects complete, packs their lunches and then walks them to school on her way to work. She walks to school by herself. She goes to class. But on her way out she feels someone coming up behind her.

"Hey," he says breathlessly with twinkling eyes and a shy smile on his face. He lowers his hood and for once his skin is untorn and flawless.

That night she leaves her blinds open.

And every day after that.


End file.
